Blood Falls (34 page)

She tried gouging the plaster with one of the dead batteries, but all it produced was a bit of dust. Then she had a brainwave of sorts.

She used the filthy water from the bucket, pouring it slowly over a patch of the wall in the corner furthest from the door. By soaking it, then scratching back and forth with the battery, she found she could slowly erode the surface layer of plaster to expose what lay beneath.

What she found was plasterboard; and beneath that, rough yellow timber. This was a stud wall, not brick or blockwork.

Jenny had seen stud walls before. She understood their design, and she was thrilled.

Because stud walls had gaps between the timbers.

She redoubled her efforts, despite the pain from her bruised hands
and broken fingernails. She worked her way to the edge of the vertical timber, soaked and scratched and dug until the plasterboard yielded, and finally had a space large enough to get her hand into. Now she could work much faster, ripping the plasterboard off the frame.

But she paused, knowing this was a crucial decision. From here on there would be no concealing the damage. She had to make it worthwhile.

She had to escape.

The fist-sized hole gave back nothing but darkness. She shone the torch on it for a long time, wondering, worrying. There was something missing. Something wrong.

She reached into the gap. What she felt made her recoil. It was soft and warm and slightly spongy. Some sort of quilted fibres. She pulled out a handful, sniffed it, examined it in the weakening beam of her torch. These batteries were dying now.

It was insulation, she guessed. Not to keep her warm, but for soundproofing.

Okay, she thought. Not insurmountable. Remove the soundproofing and enlarge the hole big enough to squeeze through. It should be a breeze from now on.

And she laughed. She really did. Because now she understood what was wrong.

‘Should be a breeze,’ she said aloud, and laughed again, her voice creaky and unused, shocking in the silence. The voice of a madwoman.

She put her face up to the hole and kept completely still, not even daring to breathe. Didn’t feel as much as a tickle on her skin.

There was no breeze. No fresh air coming through the hole she had created.

She reached in, dug through the insulation and her knuckles hit solid rock. She pulled back, twisted to find another angle, tried again. Cold, smooth rock.

She punched it in frustration. Solid rock. No way out.

She was in a cell, and the cell was in a cave.

Sixty-One

MONDAY DAWNED DRY
and blustery. Joe came down at seven to find Diana in the kitchen, singing along to the radio.

‘No hangover?’

‘No, I feel fine. Going to bed at eight o’clock probably helped.’

They ate breakfast together, without dwelling too much on yesterday’s conversation. Seeing Diana so relaxed and chatty made Joe appreciate just how oppressively the weight of her past must have been bearing down on her.

‘This wasn’t a day I’d have wished on myself,’ she had told him last night. ‘But now it’s happened, I’m glad. I feel liberated, in a way. And you’ve helped with that.’

Joe had denied being of much use, but decided privately that one reason to stick around was to ensure that her new-found liberation wasn’t threatened by Leon or Glenn.

As he walked to work, he thought about confronting them right now: perhaps issue a few threats of his own. Tempting, but ultimately counter-productive, he decided.

Yesterday’s insight continued to gnaw away at him. Leon’s paranoia made the man a lot more dangerous. If he perceived Joe as a threat, how far would he go to neutralise it?

Kestle opened the door, wearing a Monday-morning face: not quite all there. He pointed Joe at the kitchen and shuffled away.

Glenn was busy schmoozing while Pam made bacon butties. She spotted him first, and asked about his weekend. Glenn turned and interrupted Joe’s bland reply.

‘You’re out west today. Come on.’

‘Hold up, my love,’ Pam said. ‘Let the poor man have a bite to eat.’

‘Not hungry, thanks,’ Joe said.

Glenn turned on him as soon as they were out of the kitchen. ‘You keep away from Ellie, you hear?’

‘She’s divorced, because you cheated on her. It’s for her to decide who she sees.’

Glenn shook his head, his lips clamped tightly shut, as though he didn’t trust himself to speak. At the door to the living room Joe stopped and raised his hand: his turn.

‘You upset Diana yesterday. If that happens again, I’ll make you regret it. Do
you
hear
me
?’

‘You don’t talk to me like that, you fucking—’ Glenn drew back his fist. A shout from the stairs caused him to freeze.

It was Leon, clad in his usual tracksuit bottoms and a baggy sweatshirt. Glenn’s arm fell to his side. His frustrated growl sounded to Joe like an attempt to save face.

Leon gestured at the office. ‘In here.’ At the same time, Fenton emerged from the comms room, slipping something into his pocket. He looked startled by the tableau that greeted him. ‘See to Joe,’ Leon said, while Glenn followed him meekly into the office.

Joe grinned at the bemused Fenton. ‘Monday mornings, eh?’

Fenton said nothing, just fetched a worksheet and the keys to a Ford Transit. Joe was crossing the hall when Reece and Todd came in. They saw him and broke apart, letting him walk between them. As he drew alongside both men leaned together, bumping Joe’s shoulders. He might have been back at school, running the gauntlet of the kids whose self-esteem depended on constant petty violence.

‘Unfinished business,’ Reece muttered once Joe was past.

Joe turned, nodding. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

His first stop was Truro, but before leaving town he called in at the greengrocer’s. Karen was serving the shop’s lone customer. Joe picked up a bunch of bananas and took it to the till.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard from Alise?’ he said, handing her a five-pound note.

Karen frowned. ‘Not a thing. The cow’s done a bunk on me. I’ve got rent due next week and she was supposed to be paying half.’

She delved into the till to gather his change, then hesitated, as if hoping he might donate it to the shortfall in her rent.

He held his hand out for the coins and said, ‘What about her things?’

‘She hasn’t got much. Just a few clothes and stuff. Though her case isn’t bad. Gucci.’ Karen brightened a little. ‘I could sell it on eBay, I suppose.’

Since the van was facing downhill, Joe continued on to the plaza but found the library was closed. He’d have to call Ellie later.

At the seafront he went left, glancing at the gallery as he passed. That too was shut. Turning back to the road, he found a cyclist cutting across his path, heading for a section of dropped pavement. It was Patrick Davy, bundled up in a Berghaus ski jacket.

Joe braked, pulled in at the kerb and opened the passenger window. He leaned over the seat as Davy smoothly dismounted and rolled towards him, standing on one pedal. The Australian peered into the van, recognised Joe and came to a stop.

‘What are you doing?’ Davy said. He sounded confused, unhappy.

‘I wanted to see if you’ve heard any more from Alise.’

Davy exhaled slowly. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve.’

‘What?’

‘This.’ He rapped loudly on the roof of the van. ‘This is one of Leon’s. Christ, Joe, what do you take me for?’

Joe shook his head, cursing his own foolishness. ‘It’s not like that, I promise—’

‘Oh yeah? You remember when I said they’ll be smarter next time? I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Now here you are driving round in one of his bloody vans.’

Joe started to explain but Davy straightened up, only his outstretched palm visible in the window.

‘Save it. Ever since they split my skull open I’ve had a low tolerance for bullshit.’

Mid-morning, Leon went for a run. The house was crowded and the mood tense: if he didn’t take a break he’d end up with a migraine.

He’d had to give Glenn a dressing-down about his attitude to Joe. What had he been told yesterday? They’d all agreed it was vital to back off, keep tabs on the man but without spooking him until the deal with Danny Morton was completed. Fuckwit.

It was a cold, bright day, normally ideal for running, but there was a savage force to the wind. A fresh fall of leaves lay piled in the gutters and skittered across the pavement into his path. Leon aimed for them when he could, enhancing the rhythm of his pace with the satisfying dry crunch of a crushed leaf.

He was almost at the seafront when a shout made him break his stride. He turned and saw Venning coming up fast. The small, lithe Welshman had once run marathons on a regular basis, and he kept himself in good shape.

Leon groaned. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’ Venning had the decency to sound slightly out of breath. ‘I wanted to talk to you … away from the house, like.’ He looked around, checking the street was deserted. ‘It’s about Clive.’

‘Yeah?’

‘He asked me to do him this favour, said it was all fine with you. But I’m starting to wonder.’

‘Go on, then. Spit it out.’

‘Last Wednesday evening, you had a woman round?’ When Leon’s eyes narrowed Venning raised both hands. ‘I don’t know anything else, and I don’t wanna know. I haven’t even looked at it.’

‘Looked at what?’

‘The tape,’ Venning said. ‘Clive asked me to rig up a covert camera in the living room. He wanted to record what happened, so I made a tape, put it on a USB stick. But I don’t have a clue what it contains, I swear.’

‘Anyone else see it?’

‘No. Well, nobody that works for you, that is.’

Leon put his hands on his hips. He leaned threateningly towards Venning. ‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’

‘The way Clive was talking, I got the impression Mr Cadwell was getting a copy.’

Sixty-Two

FROM TRURO, JOE
was sent to restock vending machines on a route that, just before midday, brought him to Newquay. As he descended into the town along Henver Road, he wished he knew more about Kamila’s time here. Even the name of a cafe or pub she’d frequented would have been a place to start.

But he had tried Alise’s phone again, to no avail, and the only other person who might know more was Patrick Davy. Joe suspected he would face an uphill battle to regain the Australian’s trust.

At the next stop, in Perranporth, he spotted a fish and chip shop and awarded himself a brief lunch break. After he’d eaten, he called Ellie. She answered promptly, but with a certain wariness that didn’t bode well.

‘I wanted to warn you that Glenn knows about Saturday night.’

‘He came round yesterday, tried laying down the law. I told him to piss off.’

Relieved that she was unscathed, Joe suggested they have a drink tomorrow night, and she readily agreed. Afterwards, as he put the phone away, there was a spiteful voice in his head, asking what on earth he thought he was doing, making plans and looking to the future, as though he could hope to live a normal life. Who was he kidding?

* * *

Leon sent Venning away, then crossed the road to the beach and took a walk along the shore. A better place to get his thoughts in order.

The timing couldn’t have been worse: just when he needed to focus on the deal with Danny Morton. They’d got a contact number this morning, and agreed that Fenton should be the one to get in touch. Now he tried to remember
whose
idea that had been. Every discussion, every decision would have to be re-examined in the same way.

But he mustn’t overreact, either. Fenton and Cadwell weren’t necessarily plotting against him. There were other, far more simple reasons why the pair would want film of Alise being tortured.

Perverts but maybe not traitors. That conclusion cheered him, until he realised that he hadn’t actually planned to hurt Alise on Wednesday night. Why had they got the cameras set up in advance?

Because they know me so bloody well
. He might have to shake things up a bit. Spring a few surprises.

By the time he reached home he was worrying again. Regardless of their motives, the crucial fact was that they now had solid evidence of Leon committing a serious crime. It was like they’d placed a bomb beneath him and set it ticking.

He found Fenton quivering with excitement. ‘It’s done. Two o’clock tomorrow, at a hotel near Ascot.’

Leon scowled. ‘Morton’s choice of location, then?’

Fenton gave him an uncertain look. ‘Well, yes. It required a great deal of persuasion just to agree a meeting without divulging the reason for it.’

Realising that he ought to be pleased, Leon managed to lose the scowl. ‘What d’you make of him?’

Now it was Fenton who turned sour. ‘Normally I’d recommend giving him a very wide berth, but needs must.’

‘This is too good a chance to miss.’

‘Precisely.’ Fenton went on studying Leon. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, thanks, Clive. Just a lot on my mind.’

Leon tried to relax. Fenton had no reason to betray him. If he did,
where would he go? He’d had a high-flying career with a big accountancy firm, but had departed in a hurry as a result of ‘personal issues’. He wouldn’t talk about it, but Leon knew there had been numerous complaints from his female colleagues.

With Cadwell, it was different. Derek’s business would continue to thrive, no matter what happened to Leon. And Cadwell might see this as payback: a richly appropriate form of payback.

As if he’d read Leon’s mind, Fenton said, ‘I’ve suggested that Derek come over this afternoon. Get our heads together about tomorrow.’

‘Do we need him in on that?’

Fenton took it calmly enough. ‘I don’t see why not.’

Leon stared at Fenton, his eyes cold. He clamped his jaws together.

‘The more the better, surely?’ Fenton added.

Leon shrugged. ‘If you say so, Clive.’

An accident on the A39 delayed Joe’s return to Trelennan. It was relatively recent: an ambulance and two police cars arrived while he was waiting, some thirty cars back.